Cycle of Death
by SanchZeOtaku
Summary: Sanji has to live through a curse that has been placed on him, where the love of his life dies over and over again every alternate day. How will Sanji deal with the fact that Zoro is going to die despite anything he says or does and will come back to life in a day, only to die again? A series of ZoSan two-shots. A ZoSan story you have to read. READ IT!


**A/n: Another ZoSan story everyone! This, I must say, is taking my sadism to a whole new level. In case you didn't quite understand what this story is about from the summary, here's a brief explanation:**

**For those of you who have watched Supernatural or Amnesia or the like, this story is a series of two-shots of how Sanji deals with the constant death of Zoro and how no matter what he does or says or tries, Zoro will inevitably die by the end of the day. Then Sanji will lapse into a state that you will see as you read this chapter, with various members of the crew and others coming to him and trying to cheer him up. The irony of this story will be repeated in every two shot, how someone states that nothing can be done and Zoro is dead and gone for good and all Sanji is thinking about is how he is going to deal with Zoro coming back alive the next day and then dying all over again.**

**Lots and lots and lots of angst, so if you're not ready to get depressed, please don't read it.**

**And now, let us start!**

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**Story:**** Cycle of Death****  
**

**Anime: One Piece**

**Summary: Sanji has to live through a curse that has been placed on him, where the love of his life dies over and over again every alternate day. How will Sanji deal with the fact that Zoro is going to die despite anything he says or does and will come back to life in a day, only to die again? A series of ZoSan two-shots years after the crew disbanded. **

**Pairing: Zoro and Sanji**

**Warning: Character death and extreme need to sit in a corner and cry.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the story except the OCs.**

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**Chapter 1**

**The Beginning of The End**

Nami tapped her foot impatiently on the concrete, as she watched the traffic signal, waiting for the colours to change. She tightened her grip on the large box she was holding and straightened up, as the lights went from red to yellow. The second the light shifted to green, she was sprinting across the road and down the street, the contents of the box rattling along.

She stopped abruptly, yelping when the box nearly toppled out of her hands. She glanced to her left, examining the buildings, looking for the one she wanted.

She then spotted it, an extremely narrow doorway that had been squeezed in between a small, two-storeyed shop and an even smaller two-storeyed café.

The buildings were all made from the same murky dark grey tiles, with faded red doors and chipping gold numbers on them.

Nami sighed, as she hoisted the box on her hip and climbed the two stairs in front of the door in one, long step. She pressed the tiny, almost invisible doorbell above her head and waited impatiently for the door to open.

As soon as she heard the click of the lock, she forced herself through the door and pushed passed the owner. Moving the box so both arms held it again, she was half way up the stairs, before she realized she wasn't being followed.

She looked over her shoulder in irritation and called as loudly as possible, "Sanji-kun? Any time today would be alright, then."

Sanji stood by the door, his hand still on the doorknob, as he stared outside, as though still waiting for whoever it was that had rung the bell to enter.

After what seemed like ages, he slowly turned around, his hand leaving the knob and falling limply by his side. His brows furrowed as he looked up the stairs at Nami.

"Are you hung over," Nami snapped shrilly down at him and Sanji promptly winced, a hand rising to his head. Nami sighed in exasperation and stomped up the short flight of stairs.

Getting the message, Sanji trudged along behind her, his shoulder bumping against the wall every time he climbed. When he finally reached the top, Nami was standing there, her lips pressed together in a thin line, glaring up at him.

Sanji squinted down at her and then shuffled past, to the single door that stood at the top of the stairs.

He stared at the black, chipping wood for a second, as though he had forgotten the procedure of opening a door. When Nami tutted in annoyance behind him, he slowly reached up and turned the handle.

The old door creaked open and Sanji stumbled inside the dark, single apartment. Nami followed and immediately scrunched her nose at the smell.

After scrambling for the light switch for a few moments, she finally switched it on and stared at the sight in front of her.

It was actually a rather incredible sight, if you ignored the stench and the filth. Everything Nami could possible think of was present in front of her.

The large room had originally held two plump beige couches and two extremely stuffed pale-green armchairs around a tiny glass coffee table shaped like an autumn leaf, tinted in green and brown – courtesy of Nami herself - right in front of the entrance.

There was a single black door in the centre of the left wall and surrounding it was a thin wire-frame arc that was covered with creepers of a shade of dark green, blooming with tiny, brilliantly coloured flowers in the spring - a gift from Chopper. On either side of the arc were two tepoys; three long iron legs holding up circular, black marble tops and small glass bowls with flowers floating in them.

On the walls beside the door were several simple black-framed pictures – 'borrowed' by Robin and returned back to a frantic Sanji who had been desperately searching for them, in the form of framed pictures for his apartment.

The ones on the left were of the crew; with Sunny, with Vivi, with the gang in Water 7, with the mermaids, with Rayleigh and Shakky and a bunch of other people they'd met during their adventures.

On the wall to the right were pictures mostly of him when he was younger, of him and his foster dad, Zeff, the people from Baratie, him in front of the large floating restaurant, him trying to chop up an oversized fish, him after he'd fallen on the floor and gotten paste all over everything, and just pictures of his childhood and before he hand met the crew.

Along the adjacent wall were three ceiling high windows that ended at a long window seat, whose edges curved upwards into arm and back rests. The seat was scattered with multi coloured and sized cushions that Sanji had been gifted, by each of the crew and several others on various occasions.

On either side of the windows were wall length bookshelves; neatly arranged and marked books belonging to a whole circle of genres filled the dark wood shelves. There was a small portable ladder leaning against one of the shelves that you could wheel around and use to reach high places.

Where the farthest window ended, a thin partition stood. It had shapes cut out in it where several items were displayed and on the other side of the partition, almost as big as the hall itself, was the extravagant kitchen.

When Sanji had first bought the apartment and the quaint little café beside it, Franky had at once offered to furnish the two. Sanji had of course graciously refused, but after a lot of loud arguing and getting beat up by Nami, he finally gave in and allowed Franky to create kitchens for both his apartment and the café.

And what a marvelously fine job Franky had done with it. Not that Sanji had ever doubted his skills, of course.

Since Sanji's entire apartment was painted a soft creamy colour, Franky had made the entire kitchen, cabinets and everything non-metal included, of dark wood, the same as the bookshelves – also made by Franky. It was almost an exact replica of the kitchen on Sunny, complete with the long cylindrical bar seat and the ginormous fridge with padlocks, as Sanji had rather grown extremely fond of that kitchen.

There was a long wooden pull-down table attached to the wall on the right of the main door, which Sanji used when there were guests at home or if it was necessary.

Usopp had urged Sanji to let him paint the house and of course the blond had relented, without much regret. The former sniper had done such a magnificent job, that Sanji had little to complain about. The ceiling of the house was painted a bright sky blue, full with fluffy clouds and a huge, circular lamp right in the middle that made up the sun.

At night, when all the lights were turned off, hundreds of glowing bits of whatever it was that Usopp had embedded in the paint illuminated the entire apartment, like starlight. Usopp had even gone so far as to make sure that the giant round lamp could light up in both yellow and white at the flick of a switch, making it the sun during the day and the full moon during the night.

So all in all, Sanji quite literally lived in paradise.

Except just then, when the entire apartment was full of rubbish and garbage; empty pizza boxes, piles of empty sushi containers, crates of unopened instant noodles, half eaten packs of chips strewn all over the place, ketchup spread over everything both edible and otherwise, unwashed clothes hanging from anywhere they could hang off, wires from video game controls and speakers winding across the floor, banana peels and crumpled pieces of paper, party contraptions – even a disco ball, old socks, half eaten food, bottles and bottles and bottles of booze, spilt, empty, broken and untouched; it looked like a hurricane had visited and brought along everything it could find on its way.

Nami massaged her temple, picturing the always clean and beautiful apartment in her mind and willing the garbage to disappear. It didn't, of course and Nami carefully made her way through the junk, wading through clothes and sidestepping around spilt food.

She laid the box she had been holding; down on the emptiest space she could find and turned to Sanji.

He was sitting at the window seat – if you could still call it that, considering the windows were almost nonexistent thanks to the heavy maroon drapes that were covering them.

But nonetheless, the blond continued to stare at the spot where the window would have been, leaning against the back rest, his elbow propped up on the window sill, his chin pressed against his fist, as though he was lost in thought while staring at the world outside his window.

"Sanji-kun," Nami started carefully. Now that she had gotten a gist of exactly how messed up the blond was at the moment, she had decided to tone down her irritation a notch.

Sanji, of course, didn't answer. A vein popped in Nami's forehead. "Sanji-kun!" she barked, startling the man and causing him to promptly fall out of his seat. Sanji yelped in pain, as he had landed on broken shards of glass and winced as he pulled out one of the pieces from his arm.

Nami stepped up to him and squatted as close as she could without injuring herself or hitting him on the head.

She cleared her throat and said in a strained voice, "You're over doing it, Sanji-kun. There's really no need for you to go so far as to turn yourself into a lifeless mess."

Sanji continued picking at his arm, as though he hadn't heard her. When she opened her mouth to ask if he was listening, he said in a low voice, "No, but atleast it makes me feel better."

Nami gaped at him in horrified shock. "_How?!_"

Sanji shrugged a shoulder and leaned back against the seat, shadowing his eyes with his hands and staring at the lamp through the gaps in his fingers.

"I don't know… but it does."

"You are literally living in a garbage dump! You're eating nothing but fast food – that if I remember correctly, you absolutely _loathe—_" Sanji muttered something that sounded vaguely like 'can't cook' and Nami continued her tirade, "—god knows when was the last time you brushed or bathed or drank anything other than booze—" Sanji snorted, cracking a distorted sort of half-grin, "—you don't even go to the café anymore, don't answer your phone, your employees are worried sick about you, your friends are worried sick about you, _I'm_ worried sick about you and all you're doing all day and all night is sitting in this- this heap of garbage and rotting away!"

Nami stopped then, only because she had been shouting non-stop without even pausing to breathe. Sanji ran a hand through his shaggy, dirty hair and looked at Nami appraisingly. He opened his mouth to say something, but Nami cut him off.

"If you're going to defend yourself by saying something full of self-pity, like 'you have no idea what I'm going through', don't bother."

Sanji snapped his mouth shut and looked away. Nami sighed deeply and standing up, eased herself onto the seat where Sanji had previously been sitting.

"You know, Sanji-kun. This isn't like you at all. How long are you going to wallow in self-loathing and grief? Even Luffy has started to think there's something wrong with you." Sanji scoffed at that and Nami scowled down at him.

"It's true! None of us can lead a single day without wondering when you're going to walk off the roof of a building or get hit by a car!"

Sanji pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in his arms, mumbling something incomprehensive. Nami watched him wearily for a few moments before saying softly, "I'm sorry he's dead, but you can't do anything about it."

Nami instantly regretted saying what she did, because Sanji's shoulders stiffened and he slowly raised his head. Without saying a word or even looking at Nami, he crossed the rubbish-strewn floor and opened the door. He bent low and swept his arm toward the door, clearly telling Nami to get the hell out as politely as possible.

Nami bit her lip and stood up. She walked toward Sanji and paused. When he turned away, her chin trembled and she ducked her head, whispering a choked "I'm sorry," before walking out the door.

Sanji snapped the door shut loudly and stood leaning against it, surveying the carnage that was his house. Nami's words kept replying in his head and he swore, pushing himself forward and moving toward the door on the left.

_First things first_, he decided, as he stepped into his shower and led the scorching water flow down his filthy, unwashed body.

An hour later, he stepped out in track pants and his worst shirt, pulling an apron over his covered head and pressing the mask over his nose and mouth more firmly.

_Let's get started then._

When he finally pulled the thick drapes aside several hours later, he was mildly shocked at the waning light that streamed through the windows and across the now spick and span apartment. Sanji sighed and flumped down on the window seat, pulling off his mask and regarding the clean apartment that had been once again restored to its original state of quiet perfection.

He took his head in his arms and stared at the floor, laughing bitterly at himself and wondering what exactly he was doing. He then closed his eyes and lay back on the window seat, draping his arm across his forehead and shielding his eyes from the light of the setting sun.

Nami's words just before he asked her to leave echoed in his ears, like the screams that echoed in a murderer's ears as the aftermath of a vicious slaughter replayed in his mind.

"_I'm sorry he's dead, but you can't do anything about it."_

Sanji chuckled despite himself, raising his arm ever so slightly to watch as the insipid yellow light faded away and was replaced by pale white rays.

_Not for long_, he thought, as he let his exhausted mind drift away into a restless sleep; anticipating, yearning, fearing and loathing the thought of waking up to another day.

Another day in the Cycle of Death.

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**A/n: Ehm, I just decided to write this story as a spur of the moment kind of thing, so let's hope it becomes something good. Thank you all for reading!**

**Review, favorite and follow!**

**Love~**


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